


and every time i look you in the eye you make me wanna die

by sultrygoblin



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Crush, F/M, Teasing, pushy negan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sultrygoblin/pseuds/sultrygoblin
Summary: one shot - request - you knew life wasn’t a romance novel but it could suck just a little bit less
Relationships: Negan (Walking Dead)/Original Character(s)/Reader, Negan (Walking Dead)/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 8





	and every time i look you in the eye you make me wanna die

**Author's Note:**

> so i’m sorry it ends on a cliffhanger but i just...i lost steam and i don’t want it to suck for you. so hope it works. i might write a follow up we shall see.
> 
> Hello! I have a negan request! It can basically be anything, but maybe the reader has a crush on negan but negan isn’t interested and is constantly making fun of her for having a crush on him? But then something changes his mind and he gives into her? I really don’t know, I just want negan to make the reader blush :))

You gotta stop falling in love with me, sugar, laughing like he’s so clever. You hate that your blood rushes to your cheeks, hates that it’s true, hates how he licks his lips before with a smirk. Most of all you loathe that this is the way he’s noticed you. That you’re entertainment for him. Which, yes, there is precious little entertainment these days but it was starting to interfere with your life. Kicking the approaching walker hard in the chest with your foot. It’s still better than trying to survive out here. But only just. 

My eyes are up here, darling. You just melts. It’s tiring. He’s just having fun with you, you know that, but your stomach still fills with butterflies and you can’t catch your breath. In those moments you just want to sink your knife right in his eye socket. Which you can’t do to him, so you do it to the now prone enemy before hopping to your feet and ripping the knife with you. There’s two more and Lyle is nowhere to be found, of course.

Look, baby, not everyone can make varsity. That had been his most recent taunt, the one that had finally gotten to you. You don’t think as it tumbles in your brain, fist flying up and straight through the chin. You’d giggled when he said it, you swore it was an instinctual reaction. It wasn’t. You use the twitching body to push the second to the ground, dispatching it the same way you had the first. It’s because no matter how he treats you for a few seconds, he’s thinking all about you. It’s fucked up-even for this world- you know it, but it doesn’t stop it from happening. 

Panting, you collapse in on the ground, wiping your knife across your denim-clad shins before sheathing it. Someone on A team, not to mention Lyle, was going to get their ass chewed out before the sun went down. But after you’d managed to clear your thoughts and catch your breath.

“Well, hel-lo there, girly,” fuck, “I just see what I think I saw?”

You can already feel your face burning up, there’s no point in trying to catch your breath anymore because it’s not going to happen now. You roll onto your feet and hops up quickly from a crouch, you don’t expect to see him so close when you finally look. Or that he’s got that perfect lip between his teeth.

“Fuck Lyle,” is all you can manage to push out, it’s the first time he’s really seemed to want any sort of verbal response from you, “And fuck A team.”

He laughed, “They’ll both get a talking, I promise you that,” it’s not what he wants to talk about, it’s why he uses leadership to brush it away like an unruly cobweb, “You alright?” Your only response was a short nod adjust the hem of your hoodie for the umpteenth time as you did you best to hold eye contact, “This the silent treatment? I don’t like the silent treatment,” voice almost sing-song in its warning.

“You’re being nice,” you manage to push out, passed the heat that’s now taken over your entire body, “I’m suspicious,” to how he still makes your knees want to wobble for some unknowable fucking reason.

This time his laugh could only be described as hearty, “You talkin’ about our little jokes, girly?”

“Your little jokes,” it was a snide comment meant to be kept behind the teeth that never should have fallen out, “Are we done? With the torture?” if you’d already screwed up, might as well take the full plunge. 

“Killing sure does make you mouthy, doesn’t it?” he asked but there isn’t much questioning or annoyance in his voice, he more seems amused and that’s much scarier.

“So, no,” you sighed, crossing your arms to keep your hands from fidgeting but unable to stop the light shaking of your leg, “Your team didn’t do their job. Not to mention you got Lyle, who can’t keep his hand off his dick for 5 seconds, helping clear out,” your body feels too much like a thirteen-year-old in front of whatever heartthrob lines their rooms and while your brain is mouthing off like a sixty-year-old widow who was over it completely with romance, “You make me late every goddamn day which means I get paired up with the walnut,” which means one way or the other, you were completely fucked.

“And here I was thinking Simon was just bitter when he called you a mouthy little bitch?” you snort, unable to help the twitch of a smile, “Head on back early, I’ll deal with this.”

You should think to ask, you don’t. Just hurrying to make it back, you went to step passed him as you had a hundred times before. For the first time, he grabs you, hard and tight around the bicep. An all too familiar heat is pooling between your legs, you hate that you like this, that in seconds you are aching for more. Gritting your teeth so hard you’re sure your jaw will break, your eyes meet his. Fuck.

“You and I are gonna talk a little more,” he’s got that look only Negan can have, “You got that?” the one that says he’s got you right where he wants you.

“Yeah,” you nod is clearly shaking, but he lets go all the same, “Thanks.”

“You are quite welcome, little lady,” his grip tightening on Lucille and making his way into the forest.

You’d never run anywhere as fast as you’d run back to your room.

{}

Every single member of A team apologizes to you in the cantina that night and Lyle not just apologizes but tells you he’s given you some of his credits. It’s not something that happens often which means it’s the kind of thing that comes from up top. It feels a bit disingenuous at the realization but apologies combined with humiliation was better than nothing. And nothing was normally what you got from them. Still didn’t give you any inclination to stick around and socialize, you’d eat outside, and bring it back before anyone noticed. Normally you’d just eat in your room while enjoying a book you’d managed to scavenge or trade for but Negan’s -threat? Warning? - promise still rang in your head. You weren’t ready for that. It’s why you normally kept your mouth shut and even now adrenaline was still your top contender for why any of those words had come out of your mouth. It was dumb, stuff like that had lasting consequences. Case and point.

At least it was nice outside, they were veering more towards mid-spring and the warm weather was quickly coming with it. Making you way around the backside of the building with practiced steps, climbing over some of the larger debris before settling yourself next to an unused A/C unit for the big inner building that housed a few of your own goodies for when you ended up here. You set the tray down, pulling off the grating and pulling out a small tarp you’d sewn into a waterproof bag of sorts. Out comes a bottle of whiskey that you fill half your cup with after you’ve chugged down the water and a book. You’d found it when picking through the last scavenge, ignored because of the pink cover and clear romance nature of it. Untamed. Turns out while being a romance novel with some very steamy scenes that had definitely made your cheeks heat up and thighs clench, it also had a pretty good political storyline with three-dimensional characters. You wouldn’t lie that the odd and still arousing scenes of intimacy held your attention, it was why you were on your third re-read of it. Even if you didn’t want to admit that to yourself. Taking a few bites of the odd casserole you’re sure is made from leftovers, you settle against the wall sipping from the cup and scanning the pages.

It gives you about two hours of peace and mostly quiet. The sun starts to go down and you can hear most everyone filtering out. You put everything back together, slipping into the building and depositing the tray with practiced ease. Feeling far too proud of yourself should’ve been the hint that things were about to stop going your way but the half glass of whiskey and particularly descriptive writings easily silenced that sense of foreboding. You reveled in the slight fuzz that hadn’t stolen your awareness but made the walk back to your room a bit more enjoyable and would no doubt do the same with your bed when you crawled into it. Opening your door, you knocked it closed with your hip as you already began to fight with your laces. By the time you’ve prepared to pay attention to your, no doubt normal, surroundings your boots and socks were gone as well as your vest and thin flannel.

“So have I just been getting lucky running into you all these times?”

You jump, slapping your hand over your chest, with wide eyes, “Fuck me! What the hell?”

“You know, it’s really hard to get a read on you,” Lucille isn’t anywhere in sight which makes this feel much more like a social call, “Which I gotta say, is a good way to get me to pay attention to you,” which is a terrifying thought.

“Not what I’m trying to do,” it was the honest truth, thinking better about leaning over to unlace your boots and instead with a wobbly lowered yourself to the ground, “Oh that was hard.”

“You been drinking,” it’s not a question, you’re sure the reason your cheeks were warm was just that but they’re on fire now from him, “I don’t know you as well as I thought, huh?”

You just focused on working at your boots, “Just trying to get by, just like everyone else,” yanking off one and then the other, “It helps when people aren’t looking for you.”

He hums in his throat, you know that kind of hum, it’s the kind when something fits into place about someone. He’s learning and that isn’t good. That means getting close. Getting close is getting hurt. And he’s the best piece of eye candy you’ve seen since the world ended, it’d be a shame to lose the late-night fantasy. Carefully you brace yourself on the floor, getting up is going to be more of an adventure but it’s the only thing that’s going to keep you from falling into the spiral of feeling like a teenager.

“Alright,” the feeling of his hands around you waist as he pulled you up should’ve thrown you right down it but whiskey and physical touch went far too well together, “Clearly I’m not getting’ where I’m hoping to go tonight.”

“Or any night,” it drops from your mouth but the same can’t be said about his grip, “You’ll chew me up and spit me out. Unrequited still leaves me,” you crews up your face for a second, “Ya know, the only phrase I can think of is masturbation fodder,” it feels a lot like the woods, adrenaline traded for liquid courage.

“Well, I’d hate to do that to you,” this time you know it’s on purpose when he licks his bottom lip, “Let me make it up to you,” he’s close and that’s dangerous, logic manages to breakthrough.

You press at his chest, “I need to think,” he grins, you had meant to say a firm stop why had that come out, “Can you just fuck off for the night so I can figure stuff out?”

“Thought you liked me?”

“That’s the problem.”

But he concedes, there’s a lot of terrible things to be said for the kind of man Negan is but forcing himself on a drunk woman wasn’t one of them. He let you be. Head swimming, wishing you could go back to the headspace you’d been in before walking in. Where sleep was just at the edge of your eyes instead of evading you. Somewhere in the muddled pond of your brain, you knew there were only so many times you’d be able to say no before giving in. Regardless of everything you knew would happen, it’s hard to worry about that when there is also the looming chance a hoard will descend ever-present. By the time you do fall asleep, it’s way too late, you are much too sober, and you’ve made a firm decision that all of this is fuckery. Thankfully sleep doesn’t change that but there’s not enough of it, you’re only thankful for your nighttime sobriety then because you doesn’t have to suffer a hangover. Stumbling through your morning routine you open the door.

“Oh it’s too early for you,” you grumble, accepting the outstretched mug all the same.

He raises his eyebrows, “Grumpy,” his small laugh elongating the word.

He had to have asked, it’s why the coffee is as close to right as anyone else can manage and how he’d known what time you were going to walk out that door.

“Fuckery,” you mumble, stepping around him with the goal of making it to breakfast so you’d be on time for once, “Complete fuckery.”

“I took Lyle off B-team,” you stop, he knew exactly what he was doing by playing nice, “You’re right, can keep his hand off his dick longer than a minute.”

“Why are you trying so hard?” you turned, taking a gulp of your potion of life, “Is it because I want to fuck you but I won’t? That wears thin real fast,” who even was he turning you into?

“Up until now I would’ve said yes,” he was oddly sincere, some mask that had been pulled off, “It’s been a long time since a woman spun me ‘round till I wasn’t sure which way was up. I’m not inclined to let that feeling up and walk away because you got commitment issues.”

“Says the man with how many wives?” the fact that he really laughs just adds to it all, making you oddly proud and wanting to do it again, “Why are you trying so hard?”

“Because you won’t, because it’s been a long time since I really had to try. Does any of it really fucking matter, sweetheart? Or are you just buying time to talk yourself out of something I ain’t even talked you into yet?”

You slam the mug down on the window sill, somewhere between ecstatic, aroused, and overall pissed. You are doomed, absolutely doomed, he isn’t backing down. He’s never going to. Just like he hadn’t backed down when he’d been teasing you mercilessly. It’s hard to let that go, the snickers he’d made his men have at your expense. It clicks in your head then, the magic weapon you didn’t know you had. One last shot to put just a little more distance between them so you could figure this all out. There was the overwhelming need to have this on your terms. Just another day is all you need, at least you hope because it’s starting to seem like it’s all you are going to get.

“Just didn’t know you could change the line up in the middle of the season,” willing yourself to keep your tone even, it threatened to shake, “Since I didn’t make varsity and all.”

You would have thought you shot him with the way his face dropped and he took a step back, “I was just fucking with you. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” but even he doesn’t believe it.

“See,” pointing at him as you picked the mug back up, “Fuckery.”

{}

You had the day off, which was his doing and you knew it. Which meant hiding out behind the caf leaving whiskey ignored in place of your canteen of water and snacks, flipping through the tattered book. Any attempt to not think about it all for a few moments longer. Except the human imagination was a bitch that couldn’t help filling the faces with ones from your own life. You growled, tossing the book as far from you as you could and digging your heels into the dirt. Why didn’t you just go for it? Would it be so bad? There was a certainty in the safety provided by Negan when you were his- for lack of a better word. Fear of commitment, you wanted to laugh, but even before you’d never gotten close. A wall here, a well-placed fight there, something that got you hurt so you could happily go, I was right. At least that’s what your therapist had said before the world had gone tits up.

“You read this shit?” the book flies back into view.

You can’t help smiling, flipping the bright pink paper brick in your hand, “I thought that too but it was all that was left in the library back…” you clear your throat, “It’s really good actually. Politics, violence, sexuality, a little bit of magic. Not to mention it gets nice and porny in some parts,” gripping it tight between your hands, how important that book to you seeming to dawn on you for the first time, “Things wrap up with a nice bow at the end, it’s cathartic.”

“I think I’ve learned more about you in the last 24 hours than I did since you got here,” he laughed, watching you climb to your feet and make you way around the waist-high debris, “You know Lyle thinks you’re a witch?”

“Who told him?” you shot back on instinct, coming to a stop and holding onto your book for dear life if only to keep you ever so slightly grounded, “You want to know me,” you exhaled slowly, watching him raise his brows expectantly, “Alright. I crave physical intimacy but understandably can’t open up to anyone. I thought it was just because I was a big ol’ slut but it turns out it’s all sorts of trauma or whatever. So when I say the problem is that I like you, I mean, the problem is that I like you.”

“Just gimme a shot and if it doesn’t work out, no harm, no foul.”

And oh how tempting an offer it was…y

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is always appreciated


End file.
